As I sit here, trying to keep my thoughts collected, I’ve been testing a few new visual styles lately.
Call it self-portrait therapy through AI.
Each one feels like a version of me that exists somewhere else.
Maybe in another universe. Maybe just through the looking glass.

One’s trapped under neon rain, trying to outwalk the noise... back when I could.
One’s wired into the machine, too far gone to tell where the metal ends.
One’s staring into the void, stars bleeding through the skin.
And one’s still wearing the armor, heavier every year but still standing.

Maybe this whole set is about identity.
What you keep. What you shed. What you try to rebuild when no one’s looking, even when your fingers tremble.

These aren’t characters from anything specific.
Maybe they’re sketches for what’s coming, fragments of CINDER.exe, Fablepunk, or whatever happens when I mix sci-fi with self-reflection.

If you’ve got a favorite shot, drop a comment.
Who knows. I might build a story around it next.

— Ty